


My Hero (Working Title)

by Korrine_Writes_Fiction



Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Abandonment Issues, Adventure & Romance, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, I don't know what I'm doing, Light Dom/sub, My First AO3 Post, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Slow Burn, Tags May Change
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-04
Updated: 2021-02-05
Packaged: 2021-03-15 19:28:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,669
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29194593
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Korrine_Writes_Fiction/pseuds/Korrine_Writes_Fiction
Summary: A young girl born and raised in Helgen looses her family in the first Dragon attack. Years later, she is taken from the orphanage by a familiar stranger who was almost executed. He takes her under his wing and begins to train her. Her skills and confidence grow, and all the while she falls more and more in love with the man she barely knows.
Relationships: Original Female Character(s)/Male Dovahkiin
Kudos: 4





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first time writing anything that wasn't for a school assignment. Any and all tips, hints, and critiques are welcome. If you like it, please let me know why. If you don't like it, please let me know why. I am aiming for 20(ish) chapters and have the first 5 written, but I'm still editing them. Thank you for your patience, and for any input you give--I truly appreciate it!
> 
> -Korrine_Writes_Fiction

10 years ago  
  
“Laelette! It’s time for breakfast.” I groaned, and rolled over in my bed, blinking my heavy eyelids, and trying to banish the last vestiges of sleep. A minute or two passed this way before I was coherent enough to reply.  
  
“Morning, Da! Be right there!”, I half mumbled to my father as I pushed myself into a sitting position. Last nights dreams still clung to my thoughts like cobwebs and I considered going back to sleep. Instead, I stood and stretched, the oversized tunic I wore to bed riding up over my hips. A gentle breeze brushed against my bared skin, and I shivered, goose-bumps rippling across my body. I tugged the nightgown back into place, then stumbled over to my little dresser, pulling out a loose pair of pants. I tugged them on, ran my fingers through my sleep tousled hair, and padded towards breakfast on silent feet.  
  
Breakfast was monotonous, as usual, but I really shouldn’t complain. It consisted of fresh bread, cheese, and the last of this week’s meat. My brother, Haming, rambled on about how the soldiers were marching through town today, but I did my best to tune him out. I couldn’t care less about soldiers, especially marching ones—that’s all they ever seemed to do. Instead, I was looking forward to market day.  
  
My Da, Torolf, was a lumberjack, and it paid well enough to keep the roof over our heads and food in our bellies. Today we were going to the market in Whiterun. Da would chat with the blacksmiths, and Haming would find some kids his age to play tag with while Ma would pick out food for the week. I would have to help her with the food, but once she was done, I would have time to myself; time to wander the market and wonder at all the goods, imagining the places they had come from.  
  
I was lost in thought, planning out my coming visit to the marketplace when my reverie was shattered by the door slamming open, and Haming’s pounding footsteps as he ran out the door.  
  
“The soldiers are here!” he cried. “I’m going to watch”  
  
“Haming, wait!” Da called to the vanishing boy. “Dammit. Laelette, will you go keep an eye on him? I don’t want him getting in any trouble.”  
  
I sighed, but nodded in acquiescence, and walked back towards my dresser. I shucked out of my sleeping clothes and threw on some clean undergarments, covered by a knee length white dress. I pulled on my warm boots and coat, tucked my hair into a cap and clomped out the door to find my little brother.  
  
I walked down the street, searching the crowd for Haming, heading for what I knew to be one of his favorite perches. The soldiers were trudging down the street now, followed by two wagons occupied by a smattering of prisoners. I found Haming on a barrel, watching the procession with obvious delight. The wagons pulled to stop in front of the Helgen’s main hall, and the first man out was a skinny nord with dirty, black hair and narrow features, protesting his innocence with every step. The second man was tall, maybe six feet, and well built, with a mane of long, golden hair. He had a gag over his mouth, and with a start, I recognized Ulfric Stormcloak, the leader of the rebellion. He was dressed in a fine fur robe, and his eyes were stern and captivating. Third came a man I assumed was one of Ulfric’s followers, a Stormcloak rebel. He wasn’t dressed as nicely as his king, but he carried himself with a surety of purpose.  
  
The last prisoner caught me off guard. As he stepped of the wagon, I noted that he was, without a doubt, the most beautiful, most terrifying man I had ever seen. He stood a head taller than Ulfric, and I could see his muscles ripple beneath the shredded rags that passed as his clothes. Thick veins stood out on his arms, bound in front of him, and the skin I could see was covered in dark, mottled bruises. His hair was a deep auburn, falling in matted tangles to the small of his back, and his beard was likewise unkempt. Even from a distance, I could see that his hands, forearms, and face were marred with numerous, old scars, faded mostly to white. The man’s eyes were a brilliant azure, half closed and unfocused. The expression made it look like he was seeing nothing and everything at the same time; when they landed on me, the intensity made me shiver.  
  
I heard a cry from my right, and I grimly realized the the first prisoner, the Stormcloak soldier, had been executed while I stared at the stranger. The gangly Nord, who had never stopped shouting his innocence, tried to run, but received an arrow through his back soon after. The man I had been watching stepped forward, and there was a brief discussion I could not hear, before he turned and knelt at the block. I found myself irrationally disappointed that this stranger was being executed. I had no idea who he was, or what crimes he had committed to deserve this punishment, and yet a part of me wanted to talk to him; wanted to hear about what those eyes had seen, and how he had gotten so many scars.  
  
A furious roar split the air, and the headsman hesitated as the clearing fell silent. A couple of the imperial soldiers began muttering about “stormcloaks” and “unnatural abilities”, but they were quickly silenced by the captain. A few moments passed in silence, and the captain signaled to the headsman to continue. He raised the ax above his head once more, when an enormous black… thing… swooped out of the sky, landing on the nearby tower. It raised its head, and Spoke something in a voice so deep and infinite I could almost feel my bones resonating. The Dragon (I figured that must be what it was, based on stories I’d heard growing up) Spoke, and the sky was torn asunder.  
  
I don’t remember much of what came next. People screamed. Haming screamed. I screamed. People died. I fell to the ground more than once. I was floundering, trying to find Haming, and stumbling over shards of ruptured earth and pieces of burning corpses. I ran towards home. If I could get Da, he could help me find Haming. He would know what to do. I turned the last corner and faltered, slumping to the ground in front of the wreckage. The air was thick with smoke and the stench of burning flesh. Da was there on the ground, his arms outstretched towards a shoe with a leg sticking out. I recognized the shoe as one of Ma’s. The lower half of Da’s body was gone. I stared, the image of my dead parents burning into my memory, and I wept. Da was dead, and probably Ma, too. Haming was gone, and I couldn’t find him. The house was gone. All of my things, everything I knew, was gone.  
  
Sometime later a soldier found me, curled on the ground, whimpering. He put me in the back of a wagon with a couple of other children. He handed me a piece of bread and water skin, but I wasn’t hungry. I stared forward, barely noticing when the wagon lumbered into motion. Some other child took the bread from me, and I was fine with that. I couldn’t eat, not without my family. I could never eat again. Eventually, the rocking of the wagon lulled me into a fitful sleep, and I dreamed of my family… my home… gone… forever.


	2. Chapter 2

I rolled out of bed like I always did at the crack of dawn. My bare feet touched the cold wood of the floor, but I didn’t stop moving. Grelod would want the fireplace stocked and lit, and the water drawn, before she woke. As the current oldest child, that was left to me. If it wasn’t done in time, she would get upset, and I already had plenty of scars to know how that would turn out. I shoveled out the ashes and swept the floor, before restocking the logs. I got out the tinder and started the blaze, all the while lost in my thoughts. There was a man coming to the orphanage today. I didn’t know him, or what he was like, but he was my last chance. Tomorrow was my birthday, and if I didn’t get adopted by sunrise, Grelod would be more than happy to throw me out on the street. She had done as much to a few children since I arrived; one now worked for a farmer outside of town; the rest were dead. I had no idea what I would do if I didn’t get adopted, but I knew no farmer would hire me.  
  
I had grown since I arrived, but not so much in height. I was still only a little over five feet tall, but I was no longer the gangly youth. My breasts had filled out significantly, as had my posterior, and my clothes were much tighter. My skin was pale and glowed with the vigors of youth, and I had a light dusting of freckles on my face, my upper arms, and across the tops of my breasts. My hair, the pale gold of cornsilk, fell in a wavy sheet past my knees, though I usually kept it bound up in braid. I knew I was attractive, at least somewhat, and whenever I left the orphanage, men would leer at me. An older boy, the one who was a farmer now, had noticed, and given me a little iron dagger, along with a couple of lessons on what to do should any of the men make unwanted advances.  
  
I grabbed the bucket and walked the short distance to the well, filled it and lugged it back to the orphanage. I would have to this four or five more times before I had enough water for the day, and I was again left alone with my thoughts. What if the man thinks I’m too old, or doesn’t like me. Or worse, what if he likes me too much. I knew a little about cooking, but not enough to earn a living. I could sew a little, and clean, but so could everyone else, and money was tight. No one wanted to hire a girl who could kinda cook, when they could hire a more experienced woman who definitely could. I wondered what Ma would have done, in my situation. Da had always had the lumber mill, but Ma had been on her own for years before she met him. I know she managed to survive, but I wasn’t entirely sure how—she hadn’t liked to talk about her past. I shook my head, chiding myself. Da and Ma were dead now, and Haming too, most likely. I was alone. No one would help me, and reminiscing wouldn’t do any good. I needed to figure out what to do in the likely event I didn’t get adopted.  
  
I finished my chores quickly and quietly, then headed back to the room I shared with three other girls, all younger than me. I stripped out of my clothes, and stood in front of the small mirror for a minute. I turned around and looked back over my shoulder, staring at the latticework of thin scars, evidence of Grelod’s quick temper. I grabbed a rag, and used the lukewarm water to bathe myself. The other kids were starting to wake now, and I finished in a hurry, passing the rag to the next girl. I grabbed a pair of underwear and slid them on, and reached for my binding. It was a long piece of thick fabric Constance Michel had given me, and I wrapped it around my chest as tightly as I could endure. It was uncomfortable, but it helped me to look younger, and therefore more adoptable. I pulled out my set of good clothes; a pair of tight-fitting cloth pants and a knee length dress of pale blue. I shimmied into the pants and pulled the dress over my head, and set to work on my hair. I spent most of ten minutes weaving it into a braid, and when I was done it still touched the small of my back. I tied it off with a red ribbon, a gift from a family who had liked me, but thought I was too old to be adopted.  
  
I pulled on my wool stockings and slipped into my fur boots; they were old, worn, and secondhand, but very comfy and warm. I glanced in the mirror once more, then wandered out to the main hall. Children were gathering here, waiting for Grelod to appear and give us the standard, pre-adoption tirade. She entered a moment later, and launched into her speech with gusto, yelling about the beatings we were sure to earn, the parents who were sure to hate us, and our overall worthless dispositions. Her rant was just winding down when a figure from my memories walked in, and I gasped, my eyes widening in shock.  
  
He was still tall, but his auburn hair had been woven into an intricate pattern, and his beard had been trimmed fastidiously. The bruises had long faded, leaving only the scars, and more muscle than I remembered. He had on a pair of black, scale-mail pants and matching boots, and was shirtless. A pair of thick leather straps criss-crossed his chest, and upon them hung an enormous scabbard and shield, both made of the same stygian scales. He strode across the room in perfect silence, straight towards Grelod, who had yet to notice his entrance. As he approached, his right arm reached behind his head. There was a rippling of muscles, and sharp hiss, and Grelod’s speech abruptly stopped. Time hung still and heavy for a moment before Grelod toppled to the ground, her head rolling to rest at Constance Michels feet. Her scream broke the silence. Children cheered and danced, while the man calmly wiped his blade clean with Grelod’s clothes. He turned back to the door, and then froze as his eyes fell on me. I saw him examine me, noting details, until recognition flashed in his eyes.  
  
“Ah, I remember. You were at Helgen when it fell, were you not?” His voice was rich and deep, and for all the violence he had displayed moments ago, his words came out soft and gentle.  
  
I struggled to reply, but between the fresh corpse, the laughing children, and the memories thrumming through my head, I could not make a sound. Instead I nodded, once.  
  
“Yes, I thought as much. What are you doing here?”. He paused for a moment, as if listening, before he spoke again, more tender. “I am sorry, child. I did not realize you were alone. Do you have someplace else to stay after tomorrow?”  
  
I was surprised by the fact he seemed to know who I was, and that tomorrow was my last day at the orphanage. I shook my head, still unable to speak. He looked around the room, thoughtfully, before turning back to me.  
  
“Would you like to come with me, little one?”  
  
I blinked. Had he just offered to adopt me?  
  
“After all, I told your headmistress I intended to adopt an orphan, of which you are one. I cannot promise you an easy life by my side, but will have a full belly and warm beds, and a life filled with more freedom and adventure than most can dream of. What say you?”.  
  
I stared at him, and felt tears gather in the corners of my eyes. He was offering to… to choose me. I hesitated for only a heartbeat, then spoke in a timid voice:  
  
“Yes, sir. I would like that”.


End file.
